


Carve Me Out Some Revenge

by CatHeights



Category: Oz (1997)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-01
Updated: 2005-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 00:31:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatHeights/pseuds/CatHeights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While in the infirmary, Beecher contemplates the many avenues of revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carve Me Out Some Revenge

  
The torture would be drawn out, death yearned for but never granted. Perhaps his weapon of choice would be a razor. _Slash _. He'd drag the sharp edge across the flat planes of that taut stomach. _Slice _. He'd retrace that tattoo. Oh yes, he'd like to leave a few markings of his own.

Maybe he'd pen an ode in blood on Keller's chest. An ode to deceit, an ode to treachery, an ode to never fucking believing in love in Oz. Yes, an ode would be quite nice. It was important to leave things behind so that they'd remember you.

But a razor could get messy, and he'd have to find restraints. Of course Keller restrained, squirming and begging, was a very pleasant image, but it really wasn't practical. It would take too long. Then again there'd been time for Schillinger and Keller to break his fucking arms and legs while Metzger watched. Maybe time really wasn't an issue in Oz. He wouldn't rule out the razor just yet.

While the thought of physical destruction was pleasing, wasn't Keller deserving of more? Surely he could come up with an idea that would be both mentally and physically destructive. Destruction from the inside out, isn't that what Keller had worked on him? He really could do no less. After all there were standards to be met and surpassed.

Sleep interrupted by a pillow over the face was also a pleasing scenario. Keller would struggle, but he'd be stronger grinding the pillow harder into Keller's face and knowing Keller's last thought would be I never knew Beecher was so fucking strong. Ah, but it'd be over far too quickly, and there'd be no blood. There had to be blood to wash away the sins. Blood to bring clarity and wash away desire. To wash away the occasional dreams he still had of fucking Keller and not in a slashing, suffocating way.

Oh, that gave him a thought. Maybe he'd strike from the darkness. Why not make use of this darkness that continued to devour him? He could hide in it, a shank solid and satisfying in his hand. Keller would never see him as he struck, a blow to the back, slicing in through skin and muscle. Keller would scream in agony, and he'd leave him there, bleeding.

But Keller wouldn't die. No, he'd be found because his torture would have only begun. He'd be positive the attack came from Schillinger. He'd never suspect a pussy bitch like Beecher, at least not until he made Keller wonder if he had done it. It would drive Keller nuts not knowing whom he should be watching out for. Was the threat from outside or from within his own pod? Surely, they'd be sharing the same spot. McManus wouldn't move him, not when he was feeling guilty and believed Keller and Beecher were such buds.

Oh yes, he could toy with Keller for awhile, and then when he tired of it, he could use the darkness one more time for a final, quick strike, but this time he'd let Keller know why he was dying – because Beecher had no more use for the game.

These thoughts should have scared him, but what else was there to do while someone fed you, bathed you, gave you a pan to shit in? Carving out a plan for revenge was the only thing he could do for himself. He'd always heard that thinking positive thoughts advanced healing, so what could be better for his health than planning the destruction of Christopher Keller?

Lying immobile, Beecher fed his anger, plotted his revenge, and with each new idea, destroyed another shred of his soul. It didn't matter. Souls were bad things to have in Oz anyway.


End file.
